Baja Blues

 

I fly from smoggy skies,
my eyes and heart depart
the commerce and congestion,
a maniacal obsession
of modern man.

Over toasted tortilla-sun-baked hills
that seem to slip from mountains,
I watch the shadow move below me,
across alluvium and twisted cactus
to a sea so blue I can' hold it
in my mind.

I step from magic-carpet plane
into a past that rushes toward a future
it hungrily hopes to find.

I walk shell-gem sands,
city-toes in love with wave and beach,
feet freed from shoes, no longer blind
and jailed within uncaring leather.
On knees in sea-salt-scented treasure
I sift secrets of sand-crab talk
between fingers, taste this amniotic brew
from where I crawled
before I walked.

On my back, I'm browned by sun,
dark as locals. They pass and smile,
know I'm just another gringo
cradled in the arms of now.
Spread-eagled, I make sand-angels
while above, pelicans and buzzards
circle cloudless skies in search of meal,
each with feathered feel for air
that presses breast against blue sea.
I come here to lose and find
the real me.

*

©
david coyote
May 21, 2000
edited 7/31/02

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